


Broken Wings

by AlyKat



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Actually...75 percent deaf Clint Barton, All Avengers are grown ups, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Big Brothers Big Sisters, Clint is a "Big Brother", Clint loves planes, Deaf Clint Barton, Foster Care System, M/M, Natasha is totally Clint's "beard", Orphans, Pheels, Phil is a principal and no the Avengers are NOT high school students, Phil is an awesome older brother, Phil plays hockey, Tony and Bruce are Phil's bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson was quite content with how his life was going. True, it wasn’t perfect or ideal, but it was good enough for him. He had a steady and fulfilling job, friends to spend time with, a teenage sister to care for and really, who had time for anything more than that? His life was contently predictable. Until one student’s misfortune brings Clint Barton into his office and his world is turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing an Avengers!AU...first time writing an Avengers multi-chapter story too. Please be gentle and give me a chance. If all goes according to plan, I promise you won't regret it. 
> 
> Oh, also, the rating may change later...we'll see what happens once I get things moving further along. 
> 
> Story is currently un-beta'd so any mistakes are mine and I own up to them. I do a fairly decent job catching things though, most times...I've been writing fanfictions for a lot of years so, I'm pretty good at being able to beta my own stuff. If you're interested in taking a look/becoming my beta for the rest of this trip though, please let me know! A second pair of eyes is always welcomed! 
> 
> And with that, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  


The clock on the wall silently ticked off the seconds. It bothered people that the man insisted on having an analog clock in his office while the rest of the school had finally switched over to digital clocks. Truthfully, the sound of the second hand ticking away calmed him and helped him to focus. Of course, it also seemed to put anyone who entered his office on edge, and when dealing with a school full of 500 teenagers, having something to put them on edge often gave him the vantage point he needed to get them to behave. 

Sitting behind his desk, Phil Coulson silently counted the seconds, his cool blue eyes never once faltering from the youth sitting across from him. They had been sitting there having their staring contest for exactly two-minutes and thirty-seven seconds…thirty-eight…thirty-nine…

“I told you I didn’t start it.”

Two-minutes and forty-one seconds. Taking a breath, Coulson moved to sit back in his chair, his hands still folded on the desk in front of him. He honestly believed the sophomore. He’d seen the boy around enough to know that he wasn’t the one who started the trouble, but somehow always ended up the one being blamed for it. He felt bad for the teen, he really did, but the fact of the matter was the teachers claimed to have seen him throw the first punch that leveled their star basketball player, and since there were no other witnesses around (conveniently enough) to back Dillon’s side of the story, Coulson was required to suspend the boy for fighting. 

“I believe you. You’re not a bad kid, Dillon. Just have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m sorry though. Rules are rules and I am going to have to suspend you.” He paused as the look of disbelief and maybe even horror flashed across the teen’s features. This was one part of the job Coulson hated the most. 

Facial features never changing, despite the small twinge of regret he had for having to ask the next question, he took a deep breath. “We need to have a number of someone we can contact to come collect you, please.” 

Coulson knew Dillon’s history well enough to know that the teen was currently between foster parents, back into the group home on the other edge of town, and really didn’t have many people he could turn to. He never liked bringing up having to call someone to come get the teen, the few occasions it had been necessary to do so. The fact Dillon’s shoulders sagged so heavily and his eyes looked away shamefully told Phil that the boy knew of someone they could call but really didn’t want them to. He waited patiently though, knowing eventually the boy would cave.

“…can I be the one to call him at least?”

“So long as you give the contact number and name to Mrs. Litow when you’re finished so we can put it on file.” He nodded, his hand already making a motion for the teen to step out into the main office to make his call. Dillon moved with the finesse of a man marching down death row as he pushed himself out of the chair and trudged out the door, Coulson taking the time available to straighten things on his desk and carefully write out the form in front of him; a sympathetic frown tugging at his lips as he wrote the reason for suspension down on the line, even if he felt it was undeserved and unfair to the boy.

If there was one thing Phil tried to be most in his position as principal, it was fair. He didn’t treat the students as inferior beings, or children; he respected them and in return, more times than not, he found that respect returned to him. There were few teachers in the building who followed his example, no matter how many times he brought it up during meetings and start of the year conferences. It was sad, really, that so many teachers had forgotten the whole reason they’d even bothered to get their degrees in the first place. To many of them, coming to school every day to teach had become just as much a chore and punishment as it was for the students to come and attempt to learn. 

Phil hadn’t forgotten, hadn’t let his status of authority go to his head. There were many times he’d find himself aimlessly wandering the halls, a peaceful smile-not-smile on his face, only to find himself leaning against the door frame to his old US History/US Government classroom. He missed teaching, being able to reach out to the students and get them to fully understand the significance of their country’s history and why the government ran the way it did—whether they agreed with what went on in Washington or not, it was the way of the world and if they truly didn’t like it enough and wanted to do something about it, they should take it upon themselves to become educated on the matters and do something about it. Not that he was one to brag or anything but, none of the literally hundreds of students he’d had sitting at the desks in front of him had ever ended the school year with anything less than a B- in his classes. He’d made sure of it. And of those hundreds of students, dozens had seen fit to enlist in various branches of the military, while more than a few others had worked their way into local, state (one even national) politics. That wasn’t to say that Phil had been a perfect teacher, he wasn’t by any means a perfect teacher, he had just made it very clear every year, to each new incoming class to fill his seats, he never gave out F’s because he didn’t believe in failure. Students may fail other teacher’s classes, but no one would ever flunk out of his. 

It was a promise he tried to carry over when he’d been appointed principal to Milan Community High School four years earlier. While he tried to ensure that every student that came through the doors left through those same doors with a certificate of graduation, there were the few rare cases that couldn’t be helped or flat out refused help. Phil tried very hard not to think about those few. 

A movement to his right alerted him to the fact Dillon was done on the phone and was standing awkwardly in the doorway again. Sitting up straight at his desk again, hands clasping back in front of him on the desk, he raised a brow silently, waiting for the teen to make the first move again.

“He said he’d be here in ten minutes,”

“Good. Go collect your things from your locker and any homework you may need to get from teachers for the next couple of days. Then come back to the office. They know to come in here to sign you out, correct?”

There was a sullen nod, the boy’s haunting green-blue eyes never lifting from the tightly coiled grey carpet under his feet. Coulson gave another single nod.

“Good. I’ll see you back here in a few minutes then.”

He watched and waited until he heard the main office door quietly swooshed closed before pushing himself away from his desk and stepping out into the adjoining room. Mrs. Litow, a pleasant, grandmother-y looking woman, sat behind her desk tsk-ing gently to herself while entering the name and phone number Dillon had given her into the computer. He took a breath as he glanced down at the paper on her desk, reading the name and phone number upside down. 

“Who is this ‘Clint Barton’? What relation to Dillon is he?”

Mrs. Litow’s grey eyes flickered from the screen and down to the piece of paper. Picking it up, she shrugged her shoulders slightly before holding it out towards him to examine further. As if holding it in his hands and staring at the name and number was going to grant him insight into the Earth’s mysteries.

“He told me to put down it’s his brother.”

Phil paused, eyebrows knitting together in thought and confusion. That didn’t sound right to him. 

“I didn’t think Dillon had any other family.”

“I didn’t either, but, that’s what he said to put him down as.”

Head bobbing ever so slightly, Phil set the piece of paper down on the desk again before moving back towards his office. “When Mr. Barton gets here, please make sure to notify me. I’d like to meet him and explain the reason of Dillon’s suspension.”

“Of course, sir.” 

~*~*~*~*~

Fifteen minutes later, as Coulson was getting ready to send an email off to the staff about a meeting they were to have later that week, a gentle knock sounded at his door. It was a sure couple of wraps, informing him the door would be opened rather then an almost hesitant request to enter before Mrs. Litow’s kind eyes peeked in at him. If Grace Litow was anything at all, hesitant it most certainly wasn't. She may have been on the petite side, small and kindly looking, but Phil had seen her take a stand during heated situations between out of hand students and overly frustrated teachers enough to know that she didn't put up with anyone's bullshit. _"Phillip, I helped raise eight younger siblings, and took care of four of my own children. Nothing this job can throw at me is anything I can't handle,"_ she'd told him once before. Boy had she proven that time and time again. 

“Mr. Coulson? Mr. Barton is here now.”

Phil’s eyes lifted from his computer screen, fingers not so much as stuttering as he gave a nod of acknowledgement. The e-mail was almost finished; it wouldn’t take him much more then another few seconds. They could wait that long. 

“Thank you. I’ll be right there.” Blue eyes dart back to the screen, giving it a quick but thorough check before hitting the send button. He watched until he was sure the message went through before standing once more, straightened his tie and suit jacket, before making his way back out into the brightly lit main office. 

For reasons unbeknownst to him, Phil had almost been expecting to see a boy not much older than Dillon, early to mid twenties at the absolute most. With perhaps the same build and structure as the teen despite the fact he was fairly confident Dillon had no relatives to speak of. What Phil saw instead caused his feet to suddenly forget how to walk properly. 

A man stood next to Dillon’s chair, a rough looking hand resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder as he leaned down closer to speak in a quiet tone. Brown-blond hair was cut short but not too short and was styled in such a way that what would be his bangs swept straight up and gelled securely into a stylish point. His back was well sculptured, the muscles working and twitching under the dirty grey wife-beater that disappeared down into what could only be described as folded down and secured coveralls. There may have been some dirt or grease or something on those sinfully chiseled arms, but Phil wouldn’t hold it against him. The poor guy looked as if he’d come straight from wherever and whatever his job was, never bothering to get cleaned up first. 

Mentally shaking his head, Phil took a breath before clearing his throat gently, alerting the duo of his presence. In hindsight, deciding he wanted to speak to Mr. Barton may have been the single most idiotic thing he’d ever done. When that body straightened to full height –which he astutely observed was only a mere inch or two taller than himself—and those piercing bright grey-blue eyes met his, Coulson felt his stomach leap clear into his chest; the organ fighting his lungs and heart for room in his ribcage. Barton wasn’t by any means drop dead gorgeous—he certainly wasn’t any Bradley Cooper or Ryan Reynolds, but he was still attractive in his own way. A good days worth of stubble dusted across a strong, angular jaw line, while dirt and grime was smeared haplessly across one defined cheekbone. It was the face of a man who clearly had not had an easy life by any means, but still was somehow managing to eek out an existence to stake a claim for himself in the world. 

The two men stared at each other for just a moment, Phil frantically kicking himself to get his mind back on the matter at hand. _You’re a grown man, Phil. Act like one. He’s attractive. Yes. Get it out of your system. He’s off limits._ He took a moment to breathe in a deep, calming breath before getting his feet to function properly again in order to step forward and hold his hand out for the man to shake.

“Mr. Barton? I’m Principal Coulson,” How he managed to get his voice to slip back to that ever present calm and collected tone, he had no idea. He did have to hide a small smile though, allowing just the corners of his mouth to ebb up ever so slightly as the other man made a reach for his hand, paused, and quickly wiped his palm down on the cleanest area of grey coveralls he could find before grasping Phil’s hand for a firm and steady shake.

“Thank you for taking time out of your day to come down here and collect Dillon. I felt I should come out and explain to you why it is he is being suspended for the remainder of the week.”

“Clint Barton. Uh, yeah…Dill said something about a fight, what’s that—“

“Ms. Copeland, the gym instructor, saw what she believed to be the first punch take place when she stepped into the hallway in search of Dillon and another boy. She claims Dillon took a swing that leveled our star basketball player.” Phil paused, eyes glancing back to Dillon who was finding the pattern in the tile of the floor highly entertaining. There was a soft snort of amusement from Barton that had Phil’s blues looking back to meet with greys.

“Right. Yeah I’m sure Dill threw the first punch.” Clint muttered, his eyes rolling so severely they nearly disappeared into his skull. “Look…do you really need to suspend him? I mean…give him detention for a week or something. Don’t take him out of classes for four days.”

“I’m sorry. Our district has a zero-tolerance policy in regards to fights. There’s no first warnings. We’ve found the ever looming threat of suspension has been enough to bring the fighting among students down exponentially.” 

Phil’s eyes softened slightly as his gaze turned back to the teen, now standing awkwardly next to Clint. While he hadn’t thought the two were biological brothers, it was obviously the two shared a bond strong enough that they might as well be. Clint even acted like a concerned and protective older brother. Phil would know; he had experience in that area himself. 

“Take a few days, Dillon. I’ll see if I can’t get Matthew to tell me what really happened. As I said, I believe you. I’m sorry.”

Dillon’s eyes remained downcast, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth as he nodded his head slowly. It was obvious he didn’t believe Phil would get the truth from the other teen, and honestly, Phil predicted he wouldn’t either, but he was going to try. Dillon’s knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time always wound the teen up in hot water; many times resulting in Phil sticking his neck out to ensure the school board didn’t decide it would just be better for them to kick him out all together. He’d been handed a raw deal to begin with and Phil felt truly bad for him.

Attention flickering back to Barton, Phil gave a small nod to the man. Not that he particularly wanted to see Clint leave, but he knew it was for the best. It had been far too long since he’d last been attracted to someone so quickly, and it was safe to say that last time did not end well for anyone involved—but most especially not Phil. And besides that, it would be unprofessional to fraternize with a student’s family member. _Only, he’s not really. Could consider it a loophole?_ No, the man was down as Dillon’s emergency contact now which in Phil’s book officially and irrevocably made him off limits.

“Mr. Barton. Again, thank you for coming to pick him up. I promise, we’ll do everything we can to ensure we get to the truth of the matter.” 

Clint looked less than believing at the promise. As if he himself had been on the receiving end of such words and vows before only to have nothing come of them. Strange as it was, the look on the other man’s face only made Phil all the more determined to fulfill his promise. To make things right for Dillon again, as best as he could that was. 

“Right. Yeah.” Grey-blue eyes turned to look back at the teen, shoulders squaring just a bit as he placed a hand on Dillon’s shoulder. “C’mon Dill. Let’s get you back home.”

Phil sighed, a heavy weight forming in the pit of his stomach, the loss of those eyes bringing a frown to his face. He watched silently as the pair made their way to the door, slipping out quietly into the deserted hall. As their backs disappeared around the corner, fading from his sight, Phil heaved a heavy sigh. He still had more paperwork he had to finish before he could go home and relax for a few hours, but focusing on budget plans and disciplinary forms was going to be difficult. Very, very difficult. 

Turning back to his secretary, Coulson brought up a slight smile as he moved back for his office door. “Grace? Would you let Katie know I’m going to be home later than usual tonight?”

“You shouldn’t work so hard, Phillip. I am perfectly capable of filling things out as well, you know. You should spend more time with your family.” 

A sad smile itched at his lips; one he knew was mirrored in his own bright blue eyes. Head bobbing in a gentle nod, he sighed before stepping into his office once again. 

“I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go out to JayKath for doing an awesome job beta-ing this monstrosity of a chapter for me! xD
> 
> Also Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this story except for the idea, and any OCs who happen to pop up along the way (which shouldn't be many). Marvel doesn't even know that I'm playing in their sandbox...but I promise not to hurt any of their toys and will leave things nice and tidy for them. xD

_“Some nights I stay up, cashing in my bad luck. Some nights I call it a draw. Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle. Some nights I wish they’d just fall off. But I still wake up, I still see your ghost. Oh Lord, I still don’t know, what I stand for. Whoa oh-oh. What do I stand for? Whoa oh-oh. What do I stand for? Most nights, I don’t know, anymore—“_

Phil cringed inwardly as he shut the front door behind him. The thunderous pounding of a marching drum beat rolled from the living room stereo, holding the beat for two voices that clearly have no business singing along. Even if the lyrics at that point were simple enough not to mess up, their lack of pitch was enough to make dogs at the end of the street howl in pain.

He should have known when he pulled in the driveway he was going to be in for a world of trouble. A pink and orange Volkswagen Beetle sat parked on the street outside the house next door, a sure sign that Trouble had rolled back into town and given the fact all the windows at the Lewis residence were dark, while every single light on in his home told him the college sophomore had taken up camp under his roof once again. Not that he really minded all that much, except for the fact he would now have to give up his half of the pizza he’d brought home for dinner to ensure both girls dancing and singing up a storm in his living room were able to eat.

Leaning against the open arch separating living room from entry way, Phil rolled his eyes good naturedly.

_“This is it boys, this is WAR! What are we waiting for? Why don’t we break the rules already?”_

“I think you’ve broken enough rules, don’t you?” His voice carried almost effortlessly over the music, startling the two females occupying the cozy room. It was amusing, very amusing actually, to watch them both shriek in surprise, before one of them dove for the volume knob. The lessening of noise was a welcome thing for Phil’s stress induced, throbbing head.

“PJ! Jesus Christ you scared the shit outta me!!”

“Heya Mr. C!”

Phil’s eyes widened at the words coming from his sister’s mouth, and an eyebrow quirked warningly at her. Kaitlin, or Katie as she was most commonly called, stood firm in the middle of the room, a hand clutching at her chest as she stared her older brother down. Light brown hair in tendrils around her face, falling free from the ponytail it had previously been captured in. It still amazed Phil everyday just how much she was starting to look like their mother. It was nice, in a way. At the same time though, having the constant reminder of their mother around, and knowing that Katie had been robbed of ever getting to form that beloved mother-daughter bond so many other teenage girls had hurt him on a level that could snatch his breath straight from his chest.

Her pale blue eyes lowering, Katie muttered a soft, “sorry, PJ” over her swearing. It wasn’t that Phil was overly strict about swearing, he just had this thing about her swearing. _“You’re my baby sister, Katie. And you’re too classy of a person to be swearing on top of that.”_ Sighing and shaking his head, Phil moved further into the room, setting the still steaming box of pizza on the coffee table.

“Evening Darcy.” He brought a slight smile to his face as he nodded to the dark haired girl standing next to Katie.

Darcy Lewis had been a near constant in his life ever since he purchased his home nearly fourteen years ago. He could still remember moving his things into the house, arms loaded with boxes from the moving van, only to open the front door and find a seven-year-old Darcy sitting in the middle of the floor, dark hair in two bouncy pig tails, looking up at him with wide bright blue eyes that peered through a pair of over sized glasses. He never did quite figure out how she’d gotten into the place to begin with, or even why, but since that moment she had been a constant presence whenever her parents were too busy to bother with her. She became even more present once Phil brought Katie home to live with him. The then nine-year-old Darcy had quickly proclaimed five-year-old Katie to be her responsibility and the two had been thick as thieves since. Much to Phil’s occasional dismay.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

“Fall break, baby! It’s good to go to a private college.” Darcy’s blinding smile lit up the room as she bobbed on her toes before reaching for the box. “Decided to surprise my folks, but…joke’s on me, I guess. They aren’t home for whatever reason.”

Phil sighed, rubbing at his forehead, already starting for the kitchen to get paper plates and a couple of cans of soda for the pair.

“They went to Fort Lauderdale.” His voice was flat, just as it was when addressing students in his office. He could hear the soft, ‘huh…’ from Darcy as he stuffed his head into the refrigerator, grabbing up two cans of Pepsi before taking the plates off the counter and heading back into the living room. He felt bad for the girl –young woman, now. Sometimes it felt like Phil was trying to raise Darcy as well as his own sister.

“You’re welcome to invade our couch. Or I can throw some clean sheets on in the guest room.”

“Naw, that’s okay. Thanks, though. I’ll probably head back to school and see what Jane’s up to.” Darcy smiled around her slice of pizza as she settled back into the sinfully comfortable overstuffed couch that Phil was both pleased and regretful of Katie picking out. Far too many nights he’d found himself sinking into the cushions, falling blissfully asleep, only to wake up with kinks in his neck and back from lack of movement. It was a horrible, terrible couch…and they all loved it.

“Hey! Tell PJ about the guy you tazed last week.” Katie’s voice was far too enthusiastic for a retelling of the story. Though, it did bring a smirk to Phil’s face and cause an eyebrow to arch just slightly in Darcy’s direction.

“You tasered someone?”

“Okay, so…you come home from a day of insanely long, hard classes, you’re not expecting to find some buff, hunky god of sex-on-a-stick strolling around your apartment half naked! I thought we were being robbed—“

“By a guy wearing Mickey Mouse boxers?” Katie smirked, clearly finding far too much amusement in this story..

“I was tired!! And Jane didn’t follow her own rule of putting a towel on the door handle if she was ‘busy with something’. I wasn’t expecting that.” There was a flush of pink creeping up into Darcy’s cheeks despite the pleased smile on her face at being able to finally say she tazed someone.

Phil chuckled softly as he reached to pick up two small pieces, leaving the rest of the pizza for the girls to polish off. Straightening, he moved for the kitchen, his brain demanding some form of medication to ease the increasing throb coursing through it. He was determined to cut this headache off at the pass. Last thing he wanted to do, he’d learned, was let a headache go and hope it went away on its own. They never did and before he knew it he’d find himself curled up on the cold tile floor of his bathroom, the light off and a cold, wet cloth over his eyes wishing for death to take him. Or at the very least for the migraine to go away so he could get back to work.

“Oh! Hey! Mr. C! There’s a new Early American Lit teacher on campus. Pretty damn cute. Single too. Want me to put in a good word for you?”

Darcy’s words cut through the air more shrilly than Phil would have cared for. It was enough to make him close his eyes and bring his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Yeah, the headache needed to be taken care of. Ever since Darcy was old enough to understand what being ‘homosexual’ meant, the girl had taken it upon herself to try and hook him up with someone. She and his sister both had some strange idea lodged in their boy-crazy minds that he needed to have someone else in his life. That he was obviously lonely and wouldn’t be complete until he had the love, attention, and affection of a partner.

He wasn’t lonely though. Not really. He didn’t think he was, at least. He had his job which kept him busy most hours of the day. He came home every night to a house full of smiles and laughter and Friday night movie nights (which always ended up in junk food comas, passed out on the couch and floor). He had two of the best friends a guy could ask for, who weren’t afraid to tell him he was working too hard…and one of which was well known for randomly kidnapping him and forcing him to relax and cut loose a little bit. He had hobbies that occupied his other spare time and even played on a community ice hockey league when it was in season. Phil Coulson was, undoubtedly, quite content with his life at the moment and he didn’t want or need anyone interfering with the order in which he’d set up his life as.

Phil dumped a couple of small white tablets into his hand, thought about it for a minute, and shook one more out of the white plastic Tylenol bottle before putting it back into the cabinet by the sink. Shoving down one piece of pizza so as not to take the medicine on an empty stomach, he waited another moment before downing the pills dry, chasing them down with the slick greasy cheese and acidic tomato sauce of his second slice. If by some grace from above he came back downstairs later to find there was any pizza left over, he’d certainly take it for himself. Right then though? He just wanted to retreat up to his office, check his email, hassle Tony for a while –certain the eccentric engineer and Advanced Technology and Computer Sciences instructor was still up— take a shower and then go to bed. Though, maybe not in that exact order.

He moved slowly back out into the living room, not at all surprised to find nearly half the pizza inhaled already. He might not get any leftovers after all. Leveling his gaze on the 20 year-old-old college girl, he brought up his best unimpressed expression and simply shook his head at her. There was no way on God’s green earth he was going to let Darcy Lewis play match-maker for him. It was worse than when Katie used to try.

“Thanks. Not interested. Sleep on the couch. You’re not driving back to your apartment tonight. I’m gonna take a shower.” He moved to the chair his sister was sprawled across, her feet bouncing to the beat of the music playing softly in the background now. Leaning down, he embraced her in an awkward angle hug before kissing her forehead gently and straightening back up again.

“Keep the music down, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

Katie flashed her most blinding tight-lip smile –a trait she and her brother both shared it seemed—as she nodded quickly. He couldn’t help but give a soft smile in return before turning to start up the stairs. He could almost hear the shower calling his name as he slowly made it up the first few steps. Perhaps taking a nice, long, hot shower would be more rewarding than heckling one of his best friends via Skype…

“Hey PJ? Don’t forget I have that study group coming over on Saturday. You might wanna pick up a bunch of snacks and soda sometime this week on your way home.”

Feet stuttering to a stop, Phil’s shoulders fell slightly. Actually, he had forgotten about it. Eyebrow raised, he turned to peer back into the living room from over the railing. Katie was staring up at him with her best innocent face, her can of soda paused at her lips as she waited for her brother’s response. He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to let the study group come over to invade his space; it was just as awkward for the kids being in their principal’s house as it was for him to have his students there, eating his food and getting their greasy fingers all over his things.

“…how many, again?”

“There’s only six of us this time. And you can thank Tony for this. It’s his stupid test we’re studying for.”

Oh, he’d thank him alright. And then give the students Stark’s home address and tell them to go study at his house instead for a change. Though, knowing Tony and knowing the man’s love of attention, hell, he’d probably welcome them with open arms, give them free reign of the place, and then throw a party of some kind for them once their “studying” was over. Phil was still convinced Tony didn’t even grade his own papers or assignments, and he knew for a fact he didn’t grade his own tests—no one who assigns tests that are done on the computer and graded automatically does.

He took a deep breath, a minute bob of his head mimicking a nod.

“Alright, I’ll pick some things up. Goodnight ladies.”

“G’night Philly. Love you!”

“’Night, Mr. C. Thanks for the pizza!”

His feet carried him the rest of the way to the second floor, he could just barely hear the hushed voices drifting up from the living room, giggles that ring through the darkened hallway lightly. He wasn’t lonely, honest he wasn’t, but maybe…maybe there was a few times where he wished he had someone he could crawl into bed with at night and stay snuggled up to, to talk quietly with in the dark. And there might also be a time or two where he wished he had maybe a kid or two of his own.

He hadn’t exactly been prepared to suddenly take care of his sister when he got the news. In the time it took for some kid, too busy with his new cell phone to bother noticing the light had turned red, to slam into their parents’ car and send them flying into oncoming traffic, Phil and Katie’s lives had been changed forever. It was terrifying to think about, really, knowing that Katie was supposed to have been in the car with them when the accident happened. Robert and Julie had stopped off at the sitter’s to pick their young daughter up after finishing their dinner-and-a-movie anniversary date. It was already well past ten o’clock and Katie was sound asleep, warm and cozy with the sitter’s daughter. Their decision to just let her stay the night and pick her up in the morning was what had saved that little five-year-old’s life.

It wasn’t easy going from being a single man with a steady teaching career and all the time he could ever want to spend on doing things for himself, to being a terrified thirty-one year-old orphan forced into raising his younger sister by himself. It had been a struggle, he wasn’t even going to try and lie about that. Because of the extreme difference in their ages, and the fact Phil had lived out of state Katie’s whole life, it was stressful and frightening for both of them. They’d had plenty of interaction together, of course they had, Phil always went home to Cold Spring, New York for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and would take a couple weeks during the summer to go home and see old friends and family, but still the two siblings had been near strangers to each other when it came right down to it.

It took a lot of time, countless frustrated nights where he just didn’t know what to do or how to take care of a little girl, and more tears than either of them were willing to admit to before they finally got used to each other. Both grew more comfortable around the other until soon Katie had to admit she didn’t remember much about what her life had been like before she lived with Phil. She had developed a bond with her brother that Darcy had often called their ‘Hallmark Channel Bond’. It was a relationship that other teens her age found strange, and always had found strange; they were all the other had though. They had to look out for each other, so of course their bond as siblings would be stronger than others.

That wasn’t to say they didn’t have their fights. Katie was, after all, a teenager. And a teenage girl as he was so often reminded during those fights. She was emotional, outgoing, and could rage with the best of them when it came right down to it. Phil on the other hand? Emotions were something he had very little experience in showing. He was getting better about showing emotions but it was still a struggle for him. He’d learned the hard way that emotions only wound up getting him hurt, so if he didn’t show any then he could keep people at a distance and he wouldn’t be hurt anymore. Which, ultimately, was what caused many of the fights between his sister and him. Well, that and her over dramatic claims of never getting a boyfriend at the rate things were going. Phil hadn’t ever told her she wasn’t allowed to date (…well, okay, he might have told her she wasn’t allowed to date until she was sixteen, but that was because that had been their parents’ rule and he knew they’d want it enforced for her just as it was for him when he was a teenager), yet somehow the teen had it set in her mind that she couldn’t get a boyfriend until her grown brother had gotten one. It was an argument the man never enjoyed as it usually resulted in one or both of them storming from the room and possibly a door slamming.

Quietly closing the bathroom door behind him, Phil sighed heavily and he flipped the lever on the shower, releasing the drain on the tub, and turned the handle all the way to the red. It was going to be scalding hot in no time, but he needed the steam to fill the room and seep into his head for a bit first. The throbbing in his head had been dulled only slightly by the Tylenol, becoming an annoying, twinging pain located just above and behind his right eye. It was the sort of annoying pain that could still be worked with, but yet if not handled carefully could level a person to their knees. Slowly and very carefully stripping out of his suit, barely bothering to hang them from the hanger on the back of the door, Phil stood with his hands clutching at the porcelain sink. His head slightly bent as he let the damp warmth of steam surround him completely.

Standing there for a moment longer, he finally shifted to readjust the water and wait. His mind drifted back down to the living room, to where his sister and her friend were no doubt still trying to plot how to get him with someone. Their intentions were good, but their choices in who he should be with were definitely not. He’d humored them for awhile, seen who they picked out for him, and even gone so far as to strike up conversations with a couple of them. Occasionally he’d get a phone number or even a date, a date, but never anything more (and on the more hysterically humiliating times, a healthy reminder that not everyone his sister and Darcy scouted for him turned out to be gay, or even bi-sexual, hell sometimes they weren’t even males to begin with).

Sighing heavily, Phil moved to step under the stream, letting the heat soak into his shoulders and roll down the tense muscles of his back. He wouldn’t admit to the fact he was maybe just a bit bothered by the fact he was fairly certain he was the last remaining bachelor from his graduating high school class –even Nigel the boy voted most likely never to get married had apparently tied the knot the summer before last. He didn’t want to give in and confess that yes, on nights like this had turned out to be, having someone to rub away the tenseness in his shoulders and back, help to keep the migraines at bay, would be something very, very nice. It was all wishful thinking; a sad fact he’d come to terms with long ago that would never be his. Not even if his mind’s eye did drift back to a pair of hauntingly beautiful blue-grey eyes he’d met that afternoon. No, those eyes definitely would never be his. He could not, nor would not, fraternize with a member of his student’s family. And having those grey-blues down as Dillon’s “brother” was just enough in Phil’s book to mark him as off limits.

_…doesn’t mean you can’t fantasize though. Those arms were pretty buff, and that hand had a nice strong grip to it. Imagine that grip somewhere else…_ Groaning, Phil dropped his forehead to the wall, arm braced next to his head as his other hand slipped lower. God he was going to kill Stark one of these days! He wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin by any means when he’d met Tony Stark, but it was through the man’s continued interactions and eventual friendship that Phil found himself letting his mind wander into the gutter more and more often. And as Tony could twist just about anything into a perversion, Phil knew exactly who to blame when his mind –and blood—started to go south. Still, maybe if he could work the tension off, it would ease up the pain in his head. Biting down on his lower lip, he allowed his imagination to take over and his hand to go to work.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Music thumped through the speakers, the vibration of the bass rippling through the floorboards and tickling under his feet. Clint’s head bobbed in time with the beat, toes tapping gently as he mouthed along with the lyrics he already knew by heart. Sometimes there was an advantage to hearing a song so many times and reading the lyrics online enough to no longer require hearing the words. It was a catchy song and he totally had his best friend to blame for becoming addicted to it. And to the movie it belonged to. And what in the world Natasha ‘I can and will kill you six ways with a paperclip’ Romanov was doing watching Titan A.E. was still beyond him, but man alive if the animated movie wasn’t pretty damn awesome and had an amazingly decent soundtrack. ‘Not Quite Paradise’ being probably the best song in the whole thing.

He continued to bounce around his small kitchen, his back to the door and completely oblivious to his silent visitor as he set about fixing the rest of his dinner. It wasn’t uncommon for him to not notice when someone knocked on his door or randomly let themselves in, not that he had many people who would come to see him anyways—no one besides Natasha or Dillon really; well, possibly his landlady demanding to know when he’d pay his rent, but she didn’t count. Opening his fridge, a buzzing from his hip pocket drew his attention away from his mindless dancing and searching for something to go with his pathetic excuse for dinner.

_I could have killed you three times over by now. Your music’s too loud. Put your ears back in and turn around. I’m turning your noise down._

A smirk spread across his lips. He didn’t even have to see the name to know who it was. Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he could physically feel the loss of his music as he turned towards his living room to flash a quick grin and wave to his visitor. Petite and with hair so red it was unnatural (and Clint knew for a fact it was unnatural, he’d seen the bottle in her garbage more than once), Natasha was quite the sight to behold. She was, by all rights, beautiful and had a body that could kill. Literally. Clint often thought the phrase ‘big things come in tiny packages’ had been written specifically for Natasha.

She had been another hard-luck case, like Clint had been growing up. They’d met at the tender ages of eleven and eight; Natasha the younger of them, when she had been deposited into the foster home Clint was staying in. She had refused to speak to anyone, and had in fact spat some pretty unpleasant curses in Russian at both her social worker and their foster mother. The other kids had tried to befriend her, many of them learning quickly to leave her alone after they’d found themselves flat on their backs and her fists squarely connecting with their noses. Clint had seen enough violence in his short life and hadn’t wanted to be on the receiving end of anymore abuse. He never bothered to approach her, which he learned years later, was what had caused the little girl to approach him first. _"I’m like a cat, Маленький ястреб*. I was attracted to the one person I knew wanted nothing to do with me.”_ It was true, too. She had approached him in the yard one afternoon, stared down at him while he played with his toy cars, sat down to snatch one and that had been that. In fact, Clint was pretty sure she even still had to Matchbox car she’d stolen from him that day somewhere in her own apartment in Cincinnati. Cincinnati, which might as well have been a lifetime away from the small rural town of Milan.

Milan, Indiana hadn’t been all that far of a cry from Waverly, IA where Clint had spent the first six years of his life. Small town, pleasant community, rural setting. It was nice really; a simple lifestyle that was hard to find these days. There was one main strip through town (the 101 or Warpath Dr as it was labeled in town) with two other main roads sandwiching the town in from the North and South. With a population less than 2,000 it was easy enough to know everyone in town and be in everyone else’s business in a matter of seconds. Maybe that was a good thing, at times anyways, other times it was a royal pain in the ass and a person couldn’t even sneeze without someone on the other end of town hearing about it and texting to say “G’bless you.”

Still, Milan was where Clint had spent the vast majority of his life, since the tender age of eight when he was moved into the home of Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle. It was where he’d gone to school, graduated high school from, where he finally and officially called ‘home’. He really couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. There was a time when wanderlust had him aching to get away, to travel and see the world and be a part of something bigger than what the tiny town had to offer for him, but that dream of being out in the world was extinguished when the United States Air Force turned him down. Physically fit, mentally sound, he was everything they had been looking for. He was a healthy eighteen year old male who wanted nothing more in life than to get behind the stick of an aircraft. The only thing holding him back? The one thing the Air Force couldn’t look the other way for? The two tiny hearing aids, one in each ear. Small enough that one wouldn’t know they were there unless they were really looking for them. Born with only about 25% of his hearing in both ears, Clint Barton was, by all rights, deaf.

He couldn’t remember much of his life before being placed in the Carlisle home, but he did remember spending much of his childhood wondering why he could see his parent’s lips moving, could see their anger and feel the frustration rolling off of them, but couldn’t hardly hear the words they were saying. It had been his older brother Barney who had taken the time to teach him how to talk, sitting down with him under the dining room table with books, pointing out the words and saying them directly into Clint’s ear so he could hear them properly. As it turned out, his parents had known Clint was mostly deaf; they just could never afford the doctor visits or the specialist required in order to have him fitted with hearing aids. When they had moved from Waverly to Bloomington, IN on the promise of his father getting a new job with benefits, six year old Clint had been all smiles. He would finally be getting his aids and would be able to properly hear the muffled voices he’d known all his life. Only, the job hadn’t lasted. Clint’s father lost the job just two months shy of full benefits kicking in.

When Clint was seven, his mother had taken him to a neighboring town, supposedly to get him tested for school. They’d stood outside the closed clinic for an hour before she instructed him to stay put; she was just going to go to the gas station to use the phone. When the sun set behind the buildings and the street lights flickered to life above him, Clint knew he was alone. He only had vague memories of the police officer who picked him up and tried to get him to talk, not realizing the boy could hardly understand him. The station where they’d sat him on the counter and tried to get him to write down his name and address, only he never learned how to spell his full name and couldn’t for the life of him remember if he’d ever even heard or seen their new address. His picture and what information they could gather on him had been plastered all over the central Indiana area while he’d gone to stay with a nice family in town. By the time he was eight, his photo had been faded and covered with other pictures of lost or stolen children, and Clint was officially a ward of the state of Indiana.

That had been over thirty-years ago. Since then the thirty-nine-year old had made his way through life the best he could, never having a family to call his own and relying on the state to help him get through his schooling and into a vocational school for aeronautic mechanics—if he can’t fly ‘em, he made damn sure he could at least work on them and be around them every day. Clint had to admit he enjoyed his life so far, all things considering. The Carlisle’s had been good to him and had all but adopted him—he still kept in contact with them and treated them with the respect one would give their actual parents—and had saw to it that he was fitted with proper hearing aids. He had a steady job that he absolutely loved, a decent apartment that he at least tolerated, and was even man enough to give back to the community that had been strangely accepting of him. He even had a best friend who had been there for him through most every major event in his life. One he couldn’t possibly live his life without even if he tried.

Clint turned his attention back to his kitchen counter where the two tiny ear buds sat. Though he’d been wearing various types of aids for the vast majority of his life, he still felt the uncomfortable fullness pressing against his ear canals, digging into the thin tissue there and causing more than a little bit of pain for him. Besides, there were times he really just wanted to ignore the world and what better way to do that than to take out his aids and fall blissfully into silence? Pushing the aids back into his ears, he flexed his jaw a couple of times, waiting for them to fall back into place and some of the discomfort to subside before turning his attention back to his friend.

“You really shouldn’t be taking those out. What if there’d been a fire? You never would have heard the alarms going off.”

“You sound worried. That’s not like you, Tosh. What’s the matter? Rough night?” Clint’s smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he blatantly ignored her comment about not wearing his aids and turned his attention back to fixing his dinner.

Leveling the man with a cold glare, the woman unholstered her sidearm, setting it and her badge down on the end table before moving to glide silently into the kitchen. The fact she could move so quietly, even in boots, was part of the reason she made such an impressive U.S. Marshal. A master of many skills, Natasha hadn’t given her fellow officers any reason to gripe about a woman on their team. She had proven able to outrun, out shoot, and out intimidate even the most seasoned officer in the department. The woman could have a hardened fugitive on his knees in tears in just two easy movements.

“I got to chase an idiot through half of Cincinnati and into Kentucky. It was an eventful twenty-six hours.”

“And yet you still drove an hour to come see me? Tasha, you do love me.”

Her green eyes rolling, Natasha shook her head as she grabbed the spoon away from her best friend. She frowned as she stared down at the bubbling red sauce in the pan, overstuffed squares of pasta floating like little islands in it. It certainly wasn’t much of a dinner, but given the man’s track record when it came to cooking, it was about par for the course.  


“Don’t get sentimental. I have tomorrow off. I’m staying the night and you’re ordering us real food. Pizza. No fruit or fish. And breadsticks, extra ranch dressing.” Reaching out, she flipped the burner to the off position before nudging the pan to the back of the stove to cool down. Turning on her boot heels, she swiftly left the kitchen, moving straight for Clint’s bedroom.

“I’m stealing your clothes and going to take a bath. There better be decent food here when I finish. You’re also going to watch Survivor with me and not bitch about it.”

Clint shook his head, his smile still playing lightly on his lips as he moved to lean against his kitchen table and quickly dialed in the number for Papa Gio’s Pizzeria. Ordering them their usual large, stuffed crust, everything-but-fruit-and-fish pizza (with the side of breadsticks and extra ranch), he watched as Natasha came out of his room again, her arms clutched around what were no doubt his typical sleep clothes and a large, fluffy red towel. She moved with a certain kind of grace and sophistication that was beautiful, deadly, and almost seemed uncharacteristic of her personality.

“I’m also telling you about a date you’re having this weekend. And no, you’re not going to back out of it.” Her words were mixed with the voice on the other end of the phone telling him how much it would cost and how long before it’d be delivered. Clint knew she’d done that on purpose, knowing that even with his aides in he had trouble focusing on two conversations at once.

As he hung up the phone and moved to put his ravioli into a Tupperware container to save for later, he silently sighed and wondered how this had suddenly become his life. Thirty-nine years old, single, living in the same apartment he’d had since he turned twenty, and with a deadly U.S. Marshal for a best friend. Said Marshal seeming to find some sick masochistic pleasure in trying to set him up on blind dates that never worked out. Hearing the bathroom door clicked closed, Clint heaved a heavy sigh and moved to prepare the couch for their night of bad conversation and worse TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Russian for 'Little hawk'
> 
> Okay, since school is officially over for a few weeks, I'm gonna try to crank out a few more chapters of this puppy as quick as I can for ya's. Hope you enjoyed this nice long chapter though!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is non-beta'd. I take full responsibility for any and all mistakes, flubs, goof-ups, and obvious stupidity. I finished this chapter at 5am though and reeeally wanted to get it posted for you all, so I didn't bother to send it to my beta-reader *blushes* Sorry JayKath! If you (or anyone) spies any obvious mistakes or anything though, hey, let me know and I'll come back in and fix things. For now though...*tosses this out there and slinks off to bed* 
> 
> Enjoy.

The rest of the week droned on in a painfully slow act of rebellion. There were, thankfully, no more fights to be broken up; though Phil had also been unsuccessful in getting Matthew to confess to being the one to start the fight between him and Dillon also. Despite having a gut feeling that it was the basketball player who threw the first punch, without proof and without a confession, there was nothing the man could do in order to bring justice where it was due. He didn’t like it, but his hands were tied.

When Saturday finally rolled around, Phil was less than enthused about having six students milling about in his living room. Well, five students; Katie didn’t count. It wasn’t that they were overly loud (except for Milo who never learned what ‘inside voices’ meant as a child apparently) or insanely obnoxious (providing you ignored Nick and Eddie and their mentalities of four year olds); he just didn’t enjoy having people over all that much. He was a solitary creature when it came to his home life. Darcy was allowed to spend as much time as she wanted there, but only because she had practically grown up in his house alongside his sister. Besides that though, he preferred to keep his home and personal life private; especially to students.

Hiding away in his office as Katie took care of things downstairs, he busied himself with returning emails, preparing budget reports and checking over teacher request forms. Those were always an interesting read. Nothing that was overly complicated, mostly, but there were a few that left him scratching his head and wondering what the hell the teachers were thinking. Or rather, what one teacher was thinking. There was always one that left him rolling his eyes.

“Stark,” He started, bringing his messenger up on the computer and watching as the video feed flickered for a moment just before a face came into view. There was a shit-eating grin plastered on the man’s face, spreading in a way that reminded Phil of the Grinch’s evil grin.

“Hey hey, Boss man! How are you this fine Saturday afternoon? Enjoying the study group?”

Schooling his face to his typical bland expression, Phil stared down his laptop at the man. It was the same expression he gave when he was dealing with the school board or annoying teachers. Tony Stark fell under the ‘annoying teachers’ category.

“It sounds like it’s going just fine. I was going over your request forms. There is no way the school is going to approve of you wanting to take the students to Stockholm for the Nobel Prize ceremony. Nor are they going to approve of the sixty-five 27-inch iMac computer screens. Why do you even feel the need to request that many screens? Didn’t you just get new screens?”

Tony gave a small flinch, his shoulders shrugging as he looked to the side awkwardly. He didn’t even need to explain; his actions told Phil everything he needed to know. Tony had once again blown something up. Phil didn’t even want to think about why or _how_ the man had managed to make something in his classroom explode…again.

His thumb and forefinger moved to pinch the bridge of his nose. God the man was impossible some days.

“Hey! Listen, Phil. You need to get out for awhile. Come have an abundance of adult beverages with me and Bruce tonight. We’ve got a sitter for So already lined up. Come out to the bar with us and you can brow beat me or bitch slap me or whatever it is you currently want to do to me until the cows come home,” Tony paused to think for a moment, head tilted to one side, “…or until the bar closes and they kick our sorry drunk asses to the curb. Whichever happens first.”

There was a certain appeal to that idea. He could go for a drink, and the prospect of being allowed to smack Stark upside the head a few times was really, really calling to him. Chances were good, too, that Bruce wouldn’t object to his husband getting hit a couple of times. Hearing a muffled crash from the living room, Phil’s eyes closed for a moment as he took a deep breath. He was going to need a drink, he just knew it.

“…Alright, Stark. I’ll meet you around eight.”

“Eight it is. Gotta go. Soph is trying to shove crayons in the outlets again. See ya tonight, Coulson!”

The screen went dark, leaving Phil to chuckle softly and shake his head. Sophia was Tony and Bruce’s very beautiful three year old daughter. She was bright and funny and always found ways to bring smiles to everyone’s faces; though she also loved to cause her fathers’ grief, usually in the forms of crayons and finger paints finding their ways to places they shouldn’t be. In short, Phil loved that little girl and approved of her antics.

With a shove of his hands, he pushed himself away from his desk, and slowly made his way out of his office. From the sounds of things the group had gone from studying about computer coding to horsing around in the living room.

He watched from the top of the stairs for a few moments, an amused eyebrow quirked as Nick tried desperately to lift Addison off her perch on the arm of an overturned chair. For what it was worth, the girl was doing a decent job of holding her ground. Though, it came at the cost of Phil’s chair. From the other side of the room, Milo was shouting something about pirates and scallywags, “Booty” and somebody “shivering [his] timber”. Oh to be sixteen again…

Of the teens present, Dillon and Katie were, amazingly, the two best behaved. Both sitting in the bay window’s seat, heads bent over a book and talking quietly to each other. Phil watched the soft, shy smile that spread across his sister’s face as her head ducked just slightly lower, her blue eyes looking up through dark lashes while she tucked a few loose strands of hair back behind her ear. Dillon, on the other hand, was as oblivious as could be. _A typical clueless teen,_ Phil thought as he shook his head and started down the stairs.

“I would really appreciate it if you did not destroy my living room, please,” He said, eyes scanning the destruction slowly, “If it’s all the same to you, Nick. Addison.”

Grey eyes turned to level the ever hollering Milo with an unimpressed stare.

“Mr. Anderson. I feel sorry for your mother if you’re as loud at home as you are everywhere else. Please, lower the volume a few notches before the neighbors call to report a noise disturbance on me.”

Three of the six teens looked properly abashed, their eyes casting to the floor, the tips of their ears turning various shades of pink and red. From the window seat, a slow smile crept across Dillon’s face, glad for once not to be on the receiving end of Coulson’s evenly scolding tone.

Very slowly, Addison crawled off the perch she’d claimed, righted the chair and mumbled a very soft apology before sliding into the seat at the same time as Nick. The two teens twisted and turned until they were both semi-comfortable; Eddie moving to flop himself across both their legs and look up at the man innocently, as if he’d had nothing to do with the toppled chair earlier.

Phil forced himself not to roll his eyes as he moved from the living room to the kitchen. There were candy wrappers, soda cans and various other junk food items scattered across the counters, the garbage only slightly overflowing with pizza boxes. Over all, he’d seen the kitchen in a worse state (like any time Darcy and Katie decided they wanted to try some new baking experiment), but it definitely was going to need a good cleaning once everyone was gone.

~*~*~

He was still in the process of scrubbing down the counters when there was a knock at the door. Nick, Milo, Addison and Eddie had all already left, leaving just Dillon behind.

Phil had peeked into the living room a couple of times, just to see what was happening, and couldn’t help the quiet chuckle. The teen boy had slumped himself into the corner of the couch, head propped up on his fist, staring blankly at the movie playing on the TV. Katie, on the other hand, was curled up in her usual chair, knees pulled up to her chest and had been trying (and failing) to stealthily watch the boy.  

His sister’s voice rose up from the living room at the knock though, assuring him that she had it. Springing from her chair, Katie bounced to the door. She had just pulled it open when all movement stopped.

“Uh…hi. I’m here to pick up --”

Blue eyes blinking, Katie quickly shook herself from her surprise.

“ _Pleeeeeeeeeease_ tell me you’re here to sweep me off my feet and carry me off into the sunset.”

“Uh…”

“PJ! My fiancé has just arrived! We’re running away to Mexico to get married and make the most precious babies together!”

Clint’s eyes sprang wide open, his jaw dropping in surprise as he leaned back just a bit to check the house number next to the door. He could have sworn this was where he’d dropped Dillon off earlier that day, but…maybe it had been a different street? Next one over, maybe? Something!

Something clanked and clattered from further in the home a moment before a body came into sight. It was too tall to be Dillon, too filled out and matured. A dish towel in hand, the man was oblivious to Clint standing on his front porch as he stared his sister down.

“Pretty sure that’s considered kidnapping, and you need to petition the Circuit Court in order to get married…even with a guardian’s permission. If he’d like to come back in seven months, I’d be happy to sign you over to him. Unless he can offer me a fair price for you. I’m thinking the $120.00 required for the Permission to Marry form should be enough.”

“Pft! That’s why we’re going to _Mexico_!”

“You don’t have a passport,” Phil’s response was automatic as he wiped his hands on the towel and finally lifted his eyes to the man standing at the door.

Greys met blues and both men stood silently staring at each other. For just the briefest of moments, Phil felt his heart flip-flop before it leapt into his throat. He’d tried not to give too much thought to those startling, hooded eyes throughout the week (especially not while alone in bed at night, when his mind would drift and try to imagine them hooded for an entirely different reason). In the natural light they were even more captivating.

“Cli—uh—Mr. Barton,” Phil swallowed once, his tongue suddenly feeling like it was taking up far too much room in his mouth, “What…what brings you here?”

Katie rolled her eyes at her brother’s awkwardness. Phil only spared a passing glance as the teen turned on her heels and moved back into the living room. He was thankful that Clint didn’t acknowledge the near slip of his first name, though he was maybe feeling just a bit uncomfortable under the intense gaze the other man was giving him.

A shuffling behind Phil broke the spell before Clint could answer, Dillon moving towards the door with his backpack slung over a shoulder. Oh, right, Dillon was still there. Clint was—okay, mystery solved. Offering Dillon a friendly smile, Phil stepped to the side and let him through.

“Hey Dill, ready to go?” Clint’s voice was just as rough as it was in the office and Phil found himself silently wondering if that was the natural timbre or just how Clint sounded around people he didn’t know all that well.

With a quiet nod, Dillon slipped past Phil and Clint both and out onto the front porch. He only paused to look over his shoulder once, when Katie snuck up next to her brother again and called her goodbye to him. Complete with shy smile and the tips of her ears turning a faint shade of pink.

Clint quirked an eyebrow, his eyes turning to look back at the boy before looking back to Phil and his sister. His gaze locked on the older man’s eyes again, for just a moment, but it was enough to cause Phil to shift ever so slightly and duck his own head in almost shy embarrassment. Jesus, he was just as pathetic as his sister!

He cleared his throat softly, his eyes coming back up and his professional mask securely back in place. God he hated having to use that mask at home. It was one reason he wasn’t real fond of having his students milling around his house.

“We’ll see you Monday morning, Dillon.”

With barely so much as a backwards glance thrown over his shoulder, Dillon nodded and moved down the steps and off to the waiting car. Phil watched the teen go before looking back at Clint. He wanted to say something, _anything_ , just to hear the man talk again. His tongue tied up in more knots than his stomach, he settled instead for a tight but pleasant smile.

“Thank you for coming to get him.” Well, it was something at least. “Have a good evening.”

The barely audible groan from beside him told him instantly that he’d just said the wrong thing. If it hadn’t though, then the closed off expression from Clint sure did. At least Clint gave a partial smile back? And a head-nod before he turned to silently follow after the teen. He was half way down the sidewalk before his head turned slightly and he dared to glance back over his shoulder.

The look –almost shy, hesitant and questioning in nature—was enough to turn Phil’s ears red and a flush to rise up under his collar. He watched the smooth, liquid-like movement of Clint sliding behind the wheel of his car and didn’t tear his gaze away until they had moved away from the curb.

It had to be some kind of sad metaphor for his love-life. Always looking but never touching, wanting but can’t having. Watching the thing you want drive off.

“You are so hopelessly pathetic, Peege.”

Katie’s voice startled him out of his thoughts and, yes, rather pathetic staring. He blinked rapidly, a slight cough to clear his throat before he moved to close the door and start back off for the kitchen. The dish towel was still in his hands, his fingers twisting it and clutching at it in a nervous habit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh! _OH!!”_ Her voice was tight with pretend annoyance as she bounded off after him. “You are even _more_ pathetic than I thought! For cryin’ out loud, Peege! You were totally staring at that guy! Jesus, I thought you were gonna swoon when you saw him!”  

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he pulled the trash from the can and tied the bag off. Tossing it to the backdoor, Phil shook his head.

“You’re being a girl again, Kat. Besides,” He paused for a moment, just long enough to let a knowing smirk spread across his lips and an eyebrow quirk up. “like you were any more subtle? I’m pretty sure the only one who didn’t notice you staring longingly at Dillon, was Dillon.”

“I’m not going to deny the fact I like him. He’s cute, he’s smart, he’s sweet. What’s not to like? _You_ , on the other hand, are pathetic and denial-y.” Her hand shot out, jabbing him swiftly in the side twice before she moved to toss him a new bag for the trashcan.

“You’re like…a denying denier who denials.”

“You’ve been listening to Stark too much.” Was his muttered reply, head down cast as he snapped his wrists a few times, billowing the bag open in the process.

“I’m  _serious_ , PJ! When was the last time you went on a date? I mean, it’s like…like…” Katie’s fingers snapped as she paced around the kitchen island, wracking her brain for something to say. Her face lighting up as the bulb turned on, she brought her hand down hard on the pale salmon pink marbled counter top before rocketing it back up to point at him.

“It’s like you’re a self-proclaimed asexual by choice! _You_ need to get _laid_!”

Phil practically tripped over his own two feet as he spun around. His eyes were near bulging out of his head and his mouth was hanging open wide enough to drive a Mack truck through.

“What the absolute _hell_ , Kaitlin?!” A string of curses went through his head, all of them directed at his friendship with Tony Stark and allowing the man contact with his sister. A few of those words may have actually made it to the air, but  _shit_! He had not been expecting that at all!

Chucking the dish towel at the counter, he shook his head, feet already moving to leave the kitchen and what was left of the mess. It was nearly six and he wanted to take a shower before going to meet Tony and Bruce at the bar. And if he happened to get there and start drinking a little early? Well, he was sure they wouldn’t hold that against him.

“I’m not having this discussion with you. I’m not. We’ve gone over it a thousand times before, Kate. I’m _fine_. I don’t need to--”

“Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional? Yeah I’ll say you are—“

“ _Kaitlin Rose_!  _Fuck_. Enough!”  Phil turned half way through the living room. Whatever compelled his sister into believing that he needed a boyfriend or a quick lay in order to be happy, it was really starting to grate on his last nerve.

His arms sweeping out to motion to the destruction of the room, he sucked in a deep breath and tried to stamp down his frustrations.

“I’m going out. When I get back, _this room_ and the kitchen had better be spotless.”

“Philly, I—“

“No. Just don’t, Katie. Just…don’t. I’ll be back later.”

He really didn’t need another shower. He took one that morning anyway.

Grabbing his keys off the table by the door, Phil didn’t even bother to respond or pause when his sister called out one last time. At least there were no slamming doors that time.

~*~*~

“Whoa, let me get this straight,” Tony Stark leaned over the cramped and sticky bar table, elbow on the smooth surface and hand waving as if to clear the words from in front of his eyes. “You blew up at Katie simply because she called you on being a self-depreciating, pathetic excuse for an, otherwise, perfectly healthy human male? And because she’s clearly right, you  _seriously_ need to get laid?”

Phil rolled his eyes so far back he was sure there was nothing but the whites showing. The bar wasn’t overly packed for a Saturday night, but it was still loud with music and conversation; loud enough that the three friends had to lean in across the table in order to talk to each other. Not that Phil really wanted to do much talking; he was too busy feeling guilty. Because yeah, he’d lost his temper over exactly what Tony said. Again.

“Thank you, Stark. I’m glad to know I rank high enough for you to be concerned with my sex life. And that’s not why I got upset with her. I got upset because…because she’s  _sixteen_ , for fuck’s sake! She shouldn’t be worrying about why her pathetic, forty-two year old brother is still single and not getting any. And she sure as hell shouldn’t be thinking about—“

“I swear to whatever deity may or may not exist, if the next word out of your mouth is ‘sex’, I’m going to be forced to have Bruce break this bottle over your head.” Tony lifted his bottle of beer off the table and swung it back and forth between his fingers carefully. Next to him, his husband Bruce lifted his eyes from his glass of Coke and lofted a questioning eyebrow. He’d obviously missed the first part of that conversation.

“Uhhh…”

“Bruce, tell the man he needs to get laid. He’ll listen to you. Tell him he’s a fucking idiot and that if he doesn’t promise to get laid and very soon, then the next guy to walk through that door I will proposition for him and make _sure_ they get jiggy with it.”

“’Get jiggy with it’? Who still says that?” Phil rolled his eyes as Bruce purposely ignored Tony’s rant and just focused in on the most obscure part. At least the scientist knew how to deflect and distract his husband. Maybe, just maybe, he’d get lucky (not like _that_ ) and Tony would forget what they were talking about.

 Taking a pull from his own bottle, Phil’s eyes slowly did a scan of the room. There was no one there he found even remotely attractive. Not even so much as to pull into the bathroom for a quick, rough handjob. It was the typical crowd. The local farmers and factory/warehouse workers, young twenty-somethings who hadn’t been lucky enough to make it out of the small rural Indiana town, and the poor past-their-prime bar women who all looked like they’d been ridden hard and put away wet one too many times in their lives. The women who trolled the bars looking for something or someone to take home with them that night (you know the ones. They look like Megan Fox in the dim lights and foggy haze of your mind at night, only to wake up the next morning when the light is better and the booze has been worked out of your system and realize you just bedded down with someone who resembled the Old Hag from ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’). Phil wasn’t quite desperate enough to resign himself to being a past-his-prime bar guy.

He was about to turn his attention back to Tony and Bruce when movement at the door caught his attention. Not uncommon, there was usually a pretty steady flow of people drifting in and out through the night. What caught his attention though, was the man who walked through the door first. Dressed in a nice pair of dark wash jeans (that seemed to fit obscenely well) and a pale blue T-shirt that was loose around the stomach but tight across the chest and arms (and only just barely covered the waistband of those jeans), his hair freshly washed and probably was attempted to be combed into submission (it was clearly rebelling though by starting to poke up in at least six different directions already), was Clint.

For a brief, horrifying moment, Phil felt his heart leap up to his throat, forcing out a soft ‘Unf…’ at the sight of the man. Okay, not the most dignified of sounds or responses, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! The way that man was dressed and looking  _had_ to be illegal! It was indecent! Cruel! And worse yet? Fate seemed to be laughing at him! It had to be! That was the only way to explain why he’d never before in his life seen Clint anywhere around town until the day he arrived to pick Dillon up, and now he’s seen him  _twice_ in one day.

He should have realized he was staring, mouth hanging slightly open as he looked off towards the door, watching intently as the man at the door shoved his hands in his pockets and moved awkwardly off to the side. Clint seemed to flinch slightly when a new song screeched through the tinny cheap speakers, his shoulders hunched up before his hands reached to plug his ears. At least, that’s what Phil assumed the man was doing. Until they hands came down barely a few seconds later and went straight back into the pockets. God, that man was just—

“Hot shit.”

Quickly blinking, Phil tore his gaze away from the door and back to Tony. The man and his partner both giving him knowing grins (though, at least Bruce had the decency to keep his grin a bit on the shy, apologetic side).

“How can your sister say you’re asexual?! I just heard that inhuman noise you made, Coulson! That was the ‘Holy shit, I just sprung an instant boner over you’ sound! I will get you laid with _that man_!”

“Tony, leave Phil alone,”

“Bruce, this must be done. We’ll consider it an experiment. Okay? Justify it with science. My hypothesis is that if we get Phil laid, he’ll finally relax and start being fun again. Now comes the time to test said hypothesis with the experiment. Collect some conclusive data and publish a report.”

“Tony…” There was an edge to Bruce’s calm voice. It was an edge that Phil had come to call Bruce’s ‘You say one more word Stark and you are sleeping on the lumpy futon in your shop for a month’ voice. Amazingly enough, it was about the only thing that could actually shut Tony up and get him to drop a subject. Or at least,  _mostly_ drop a subject.

His eyes drifting back to the door, Phil straightened up just slightly when another man came into view, his hand resting on Clint’s shoulder and clearly startling the shorter man. The new person smiled apologetically before leaning in closer, almost intimately close, his free hand motioning to the loud crowded room. He couldn’t see or hear what the man said, but whatever it was had Clint giving a soft shoulder shrug and nod before he turned to move back out the door.  Watching the pair leave, the new man’s hand coming to rest lightly on the small of Clint’s back, Phil’s shoulders (and heart, if he’s going to be honest) fell heavily. Taken. It figured. All the good ones were either taken or straight.

“Forget it, Stark. He’s with someone. Plus, they just left.” 

He slumped a little lower in his seat. Frustrated, Phil tossed back what was left of his beer in two hard gulps before he motioned for another round.

~*~*~

When he got home that night, well past midnight and maybe just a bit more tipsy than he’d care to admit (at least he’d had the sense to ask Bruce for a ride home; he’d deal with going to pick up his car in the morning after some sleep and a full pot of black coffee), he found the living room to be near picture perfect clean. Even dusted. He only stumbled into the couch a little bit before he made it into the kitchen and stopped.

There on the table had to be the biggest pan of brownies he’d ever seen (okay, maybe not really, but whatever), topped with little, partially melted Hershey Hugs; the little dots of white chocolate forming a lopsided and awkward looking frowny face. A note sat next to the pan, the writing the familiar scrawl of his sister:

_I’m sorry, PJ. See? I made apology brownies. And they aren’t even burnt! =D_

_Love you._

_~Kit-Kat_

His anger and frustration had long since been soaked out of his body by the beers and couple of shots he’d done. The note and use of his old nickname for her only served to bring a soft, little loopy grin to his face. Reaching a hand out, he plucked one of the eyes from the face and popped it into his mouth. It took him a minute, but he managed to rearrange the remaining ones into some kind of smile; making it look like a winking face instead.

Switching off all the lights, Phil turned and headed up the stairs, falling pathetically into bed and not even bothering to change out of his clothes. He’d regret it in the morning, but that was a good seven hours away and he wasn’t about to be bothered with that right then.

~*~*~

“What was wrong with Andrew?”

“You really want me to answer that, Tasha?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

Clint fell back against his pillows, arm draped over his eyes and phone pressed to his ear. Blind dates were never his thing, especially not ones that had been arranged by his best friend. Natasha was great, she would literally kill anyone who hurt him, but when it came to picking out dates for him? Well, he thought he’d have a better chance of going into space than he did of her finding him someone decent to date.

“He was handsy, for one thing. He literally had to be touching me somehow through the whole night.”

“Well, can’t blame him there. You’re gorgeous, Clint. You should be happy he wasn’t blind and didn’t notice.”

Her voice was calm and level, almost to the point of sounding distracted or uninterested. Clint knew better though. He could almost see her sitting in her apartment, staring down at her coffee table, a wide assortment of nail polishes lined up in front of her (that she swore she didn’t own), trying to decide which shade of red to paint her toenails (which she claimed she never did). She was skilled enough to multi-task though, and Clint knew that she was in fact paying attention to every word he said. No doubt cataloging what he did or didn’t like about the guy so that she could try to find someone else who did match the criteria.

“You know how I feel about guys I don’t know touching me. Especially on the first date. First and only, by the way, thank you very much.” He groaned softly as he shifted in bed, wiggling himself around to get comfortable and under his blankets. “And if being handsy wasn’t enough, he kept talking about Lucile all night.”

There was a pause on the line for a moment before, “Who is ‘Lucile’?”

“His gun, I’m assuming. Otherwise it’s the name of his dick, and I’m sorry, but I cannot and will not be with a man who names his dick ‘Lucile’.”

“You named yours Weeping Willie. I don’t think you have room to talk.”

“I was seventeen, Tosh, and I just told you that to try and distract you from your whole ‘I’ll show you mine, you show me yours’ topic.”

From the other side of the line, Natasha gave a noncommittal hum, obviously doubting his claim.

“Pft. Whatever, Tosh. Look, okay, just…drop it, okay? I’m coming to terms with the fact I’m destined to be alone. I have you, what more do I need?” He let a goofy smile spread across his face as he shifted and rolled onto his side, curling up slightly under his blankets as he readjusted the phone in his hand.

“To get some from a real person and not that dildo you keep in your drawer.”

“Says the woman with a ruby red vibrator under her pillow.”

“I still have sex more often than you do.” A heavy sigh filled his ear and he knew that the conversation was about to turn a bit serious. Which, he shifted awkwardly for, but it was also a good thing really. It meant it was also almost over and he could try to get some sleep.

“Dorogaya*, you know I care about you. I do. But the fact that I work an obscene amount of hours every week and yet still have more sex with a real man than you do is just sad. I’m trying to help you. I’d hate for you to die of blue balls.”

Clint gave a soft snort, his eyes rolling at her words.

“Careful, Nat. Someone might overhear you and think you actually loved me or something.”

“Love is for children, Clint. I just want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy.”

There was another pause and he could almost see the soft, barely amused smile playing on his friend’s beautiful face. It was a smile that was reserved just for him and only for the rarest of occasions.

“You’re sweet, but you still need to get laid. I have to go, I’m on early duty this week. I’ll come by next weekend. We’ll go to that crappy little bar you like so much and have over priced, watered down drinks.”

With another snort of half-laughter, Clint nodded his head despite her being unable to see it. His mind was already drifting to the disaster that was his date that night. He’d wanted to go to the bar, to sit in the comfort of a place he was familiar with –even if the shrill music that night had caused him to take his hearing aids out for the few minutes they were there. It wasn’t usually that obnoxiously loud. But, stupid Andrew and his touchy-feely hands had decided the place was too crowded, too noisy, and God-forbid should stories of ‘Lucile’ be drowned out by bar talk.

Stifling a yawn, he let his eyes fall shut. The comfortable warmth and weight of his blankets already starting to pull him down into the darkness.

“Next weekend’s karaoke weekend. You’re going to sing with me as payback for this last blind date.”

Natasha swore venomously in Russian.

“Love you too, Tosh. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He didn’t wait for her to say her goodbyes, she never did say them. They both knew when a conversation was over and there was no need for such trivial things in her book. Locking his phone and tossing it onto the nightstand, Clint allowed himself to drift off into a dream filled with all the typical things he dreams about. This time though, there was something extra. The image of a man with kind grey eyes, a slightly receding hairline, and laugh lines etched perfectly into his features. And if that man just happened to be dressed exactly like Dillon’s principal, and possibly sounded a bit like him too, well…Clint would just blame his unimaginative subconscious.

Though, he definitely wasn’t going to complain about it, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dorogaya = phonetic spelling of Russian for "Sweetheart"
> 
>  
> 
> I apologize folks. I really do. I really, truly, honestly had every intention of having more chapters finished and posted by now. However, I'm sure you all know how life tends to get in the way and change those plans...plus fussy muses. It's been...well...nevermind. 
> 
> I apologize, again. I never meant for this to become one of those stories that only gets updated once a month. If I had it my way, it'd be mostly, if not completely finished by now. *Shakes fist at stupid life and muses and other things that have made that an impossibility* I don't _want_ it to be updated once a month...but that may be what ends up happening. At least until I can get some personal things worked out and gotten over. =/


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